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Saturday, 3 February 2018

Bonding Cubed an Ion Age short story by Aris Kolehmainen

I was captivated to read a short story by long time IonFan and devotee to the Shia Khan the talented Aris Kolehmainen. I will admit I thought up the title of this tale but that aside the penmanship of this work is entirely of Aris creation. What will an ancient sentient intellect of war do when it finds kindred ship with a young knight? A grav bike steed is a thing of beauty. So without further ado read on for Bonding Cubed! GBS

Bonding Cubed

• • •

“I never said I loved him.”

[[You didn’t have to. He knew.]]

“I’ll never have the chance.”

[[There was nothing you could do.]]

“But I could have–“

[[Claire.]]

“I might have–“

[[Claire.]]

“…What?”

[[Focus. 2 o’clock, 38°pro]]

Claire snapped around the corner and looked up, her Angis rifle’s auto-trainer locking in with her eyes, while she allowed her suit to assist her aim. In seconds, three Maligs were reduced to three gouts of blackish green viscera. The mag light flashed in her HUD as her ammo read zero, without thinking she cocked the bolt, ejected the spent magazine, and slammed a new one in it’s place.

[[Movement, 3 and 10, inbound. 15 seconds. Move.]]

“Where? I don’t see an exit.”

[[Scanning… South south-east. Over that pile of rubble.]]

She looked at the pile, it was enormous. Several floors of the building must have come down there. Had she not spent her jump fuel, it would have been an easy escape. Climbing that even with suit assistance would leave her exposed for too long. At her waist, soft bag of ornate leather held a small cube about the size of her armoured fist. She could almost feel the frustration emanating off of it.

[[You can do this.]]

She hesitated.

[[He wouldn’t want you to die.]]

She ran.

The rubble pile was worse than she imagined, for every foothold was an awkward jut of rubbacrete or re-bar. But she climbed. Quick as she could she manoeuvred around the obstructions, but her eyes were only half on the task. Her attention was split between the treacherous climb, and her HUD which now showed movement five seconds out, and with at least another eight meters to climb.

[[Keep going.]]

Five meters left. The blips on her HUD were getting brighter, louder.

[[We’re almost there.]]

Two meters left. The blips are an angry red now, she could hear the sound of footsteps, and something much larger.

[[Hurry. They brought a Psychoborg.]]

She crested the rubble and rolled quickly over, slamming her fist onto the Chameleon Circuit control. There was a nearly inaudible hum as her armour began to redirect the light around her, and her body vanished into rubble.

Quietly she crawled up to the ledge, and peered over. Several Legionnaires slowly entered the room, their rifles training, seeking a target. Claire didn’t move, she forced herself to stay still, slow her breathing. They moved over to where she had been only moments before, spinning around the corner weapons ready to strike, or impale, someone hiding there. One of them pointed up to where the Maligs had been and where their internals now decorated a wall. One of the Legionaries who was wearing a white cape over his grey fatigues and neon green armour examined the scene for a moment before pressing a button on his wrist.

A moment later, a loud and rhythmic thumping began to grow. Claire could feel the hairs raise on her arms, and her heart rate was increasing. Claire knew the symptoms of a Humascare Field from briefing, but it didn’t make it any less pleasant. When the Psychoborg emerged, she forced herself not to gasp. A monster of metal, crafted in the likeness of a great skeletal demon. It took in the room with glowing eyes, it’s head slowly panning from left to right. There was something about the way it moved... its reactions were too lithe, its movements too exact, and it’s fingers seemed to twitch as if in anticipation. By all battlefield accounts, it was supposed to be just a robot, but machines shouldn't move like that.

It scanned the room again, its massive head slowly panning the room. It gestured and spoke in a guttural, monotone voice to the caped figure, who nodded curtly back at it. With that, the legionaries began briskly moving away in the direction they had come, with the Psychoborg following them at its own pace. Claire watched them leaving and prepared herself to move. Without warning, the Psychoborg whipped itself around, it’s massive weapon pointed directly at her, barrels spinning.

[[Run.]]

There was no hesitation this time. The Psychoborg roared as its weapon began to hose her location with metallic death. She rolled back, ducking the initial shots and ran. A lucky bullet caught her pauldron as she turned, shorting out her Chameleon Circuit. In the half second that her body was visible and exposed, her blue armour went black in half a dozen places, as it bubbled and melted away from the impact of a half dozen laser contacts.

But still she ran...

* * *

She didn’t remember how far she ran, or for how long. She didn’t remember stumbling though the ruins of the mall into the open. Nor did she remember holding onto what remained of her arm, severed by laser impacts. She didn’t remember collapsing in front of a mighty Taranis tank, or the honourable Baron Aldo Murdo himself lifting her off the ground to rushing her to the Med Corps. What she did remember was the terror, the loss, and the pain.

When she finally opened her eyes, all she could see was white. Her first thought was that she had died. It was plausible enough, considering what she could remember. But as her eyes began to focus, she realized she was laying in a Med-Op bed. Still fighting off exhaustion, she tried to lift the covers, but nothing happened. She looked down and saw that where her left arm was, there now wasn’t. Panic set in, and she tried to scramble up, but a gentle, firm hand kept her in place.

“Rest child. You have done your Princess proud.” The deep baritone voice of the Bannerette seemed to resonate deep within her and she allowed herself to lay back down. Like all Bannerettes he was a hulking figure in powered armour. His blue Alwite armour intricately carved with arcane symbols of his brotherhood, and over this, a ceremonial crimson robe with gold trim. Rarely was a Bannerette seen in public in anything but full battle attire, and it seemed now was no exception.

“Where am I?” Speaking hurt, her throat felt dry and chapped. Sensing this, the Bannerette took a glass of water from a near table and helped her drink. The cup was tiny in the Bannerette’s mighty gauntlet, Claire thought it might have been humorous to her if she hadn’t been in the shape she was in.

“You are on the Cassillis Portable Castle ‘Endless Vigil’, we have left the planet some time ago.”

The Bannerette raised his hand gently in a warding gesture, catching her thoughts before she spoke them.

“No. No, not a retreat. We have gained ground. The Princess is cycling out the front line. There are many wounded, and many more tired. Fresh knights and muster will secure our victory.”

The Bannerette pressed the release on his helmet, allowing her to see his face. He was old. Not just old for a solider, but old. Long braided grey hair fell to the side of his head, a short grey beard streaked with dark black, and eyes deep as the ancient oceans and nearly as blue.

“Fear not, young one. Your loss was not in vein,” his eyes softened a with sympathy, “Nor was his.”

Clair pushed herself into a sitting position gingerly, determined to hold some dignity over herself, especially in the presence of one such as him. She was still a Knight, even without an arm and put though the gnashing teeth of the Khanate, only to be spit out. The Bannerette watched her patiently as she awkwardly righted herself in the bed.

“My lord, may I speak bluntly?”

He arched an eyebrow, and smiled, “You may, yes.”

“I understand that I am in bad shape, but I am sure there are worse than I and of much higher rank. I am not a knight of any particular renown or standing, so I wonder why you are here at my bedside?”

The Bannerette chuckled as he pulled from his robe a cube. It was bronze in color, metallic, and slightly larger than her hand, it took her a moment to remember but right when it clicked the Bannerette spoke.

“A Ventus Cube. A venerable one, too. Normally, a cube will be destroyed with the death of its owner. It is a merciful act. However a handful passed down from age to age. They gain knowledge, and experience of life times. This is a Ventus that remembers.”

[[Hello Claire.]]

Claire sat straighter in her bed.

“This Ventus was beholden to the Noble house of Baron Harkill, whom was slain in the line of duty to his Princess. As you know, a Ventus Cube is quite the rarity. Both to see one, and more so to own one. However, we at the Tor have come upon quite the perplexing mystery with this Ventus' emotional matrix and subverted bonding algorithms.”

“I… I don’t understand?”

The Bannerette smiled. “Of course not, our ways are not your ways. Suffice to say, under normal circumstance, it is we who choose whom will receive a Ventus Cube. An artificial intelligence that grants curious power, and prestige to those whom attain one. However-”

[[I wish to remain with Claire]]

She stared at the cube for a long moment, startled.

“House Harkill is ancient, and holds firm to the Code, as they always have. Upon news of this development, they wish to bestow this Ventus upon you, in line with the wish of the cube itself. They feel that your sacrifice in the line of duty is worthy merit in your inheriting of their family's ancestral cube."

The Bannerette placed the cube on the bed in front of her, gingerly and gently as if laying down a newborn child.

"You realize, of course, the honour that comes with being given the privilege of maintaining a Ventus Cube? Well, I believe that this honour is greater still as this time, perhaps even the first time so far as the Grand Archivist could find, a Ventus has chosen its possessor. Now, would you accept ancient, and time-honoured responsibility that comes with the possession and privilege of the Ventus?”

Her mind swam. This was unheard of in so many ways. She stared at the cube, wondering how things would change for her, and as she did, the cube stared back...

* * *

[[They won’t escape.]]

“You’re damned right they won’t.”

Claire pulled hard on the handles of the Burgeon 201 Steed, it’s tail sliding wide behind it before gunning the engine. The Shia Khan Orb banked off a rock outcrop, nearly flipping itself like a bulbous coin, but somehow maintained balance. Much to be said about Khanate gyros, she thought.

“Charge it!”

[[I am ahead of you. Laser charge at 85%]]

Claire twist the throttle, and picked up speed. She was about to line up on her target when the Orb spun its turrets backward and let loose a barrage of rockets. Munitions drifted past her as she dodged to the right, then pulled her Steed hard to the left, riding up another rock face onto a plateau. She pulled hard again on the throttle. At this angle, the Orb couldn’t get a bead on her without changing its direction. Once again, the high ground would prove to be the advantage.

[[Laser charge at 100%]]

“Soon as I fire, get ready to turn and burn.”

[[Understood.]]

Claire veered hard, and the Steed leapt off the edge of the plateau, tapping the thruster control, she bee-lined directly at the Orb. She smiled at the sudden realization the Khanate wouldn’t see her coming. Her right hand thumbed the trigger, sending a crimson lance of energy directly though the crew hatch of the Orb. The mono wheel seemed to stutter for a moment, losing balance just before it went up in a massive explosion as it’s rocket ammo bins ignited.

“PUNCH IT!”

She pulled back hard, swinging her tail to the ground as the boosters kicked over. Rocketing her up and away from the exploding war machine. She allowed herself a moment to take in the scene. This Orb had been a scout, luckily it looked like the main Khanate advance wasn’t immediately near, so getting back to the defensive line shouldn’t be a hassle.

She had been out of the field for nearly a year, receiving cybernetic training for her new arm, Ventus training, and learning her new role as a Steed rider. But revenge is a good motivator, and the Khanate had much to answer for. From her headset, the deep voice of Baron Murdo broke the silence.

“Knights and warriors, our ancient enemy now approaches our defensive line. On this day, these invaders will learn that where we stand, they shall never tread. With fire and fury, we shall be their doom! All lances and those of Taranis distinction too; phalanx formation! Advance!”

[[So it begins.]]

“It seems so, we’ll head back now. Give me a full throttle burn for as long as you can, there’s a war on and I’d hate to miss it.”

Online Fans of the Ion Age

The Ion Age

Near a thousand years has passed since the galaxy brought itself to the brink of extinction in the Wars of the Khanate. Dragon ships burned a thousand worlds and humanity sank to its knees amid the ruins of its once glittering stellar commonwealth. At the battle for the Aldan star system the Ban of Prejudice was lifted and for once the liberated soldiers of the Free Companies stood shoulder to shoulder with the gene soldiers of the sterile Imperial Commonwealth; mankind once more united to stop an overwhelming alien threat. A billion men and woman died fighting and the matter gateway on Aldan IV newly built by the Khanate spewed forth legions from across the galactic plane at a rate that even the fanatical Templars of the Free Companies could not halt. It was then, according to the scorched records of the Starvaulters, that the Templars committed the greatest act of treachery even committed upon the body of humanity; creating the Dolorous Expanses. Whole star systems vanished and were replaced with impenetrable clouds of dust, covering dozens of light years each. An artefact of ancient design in the Aldan system, discovered by the Templars but kept secret, the Dolorous Expanses ended the wars at a stroke. Death and destruction beyond toll, changing the very face of the galaxy and all was still; the Free Companies cast out the Templars and the Imperium retreated into its shattered self. The Khanate...gone…for the time being.

Dark times followed and the fate of mankind looked grim, starvation gained hold and commerce fell to the wayside, as few starships could navigate the Dolorous Expanses and contact with the clouds meant instant obliteration. Inhabited worlds tortured their peoples in desperate acts of accelerated terra-forming; needing the land to feed themselves now that commerce was gone. The once zealot and fanatical Free Companies settled into an agrarian civilisation of fifty worlds bonded loosely by their ruling Barons, those of the Free Companies who had retained the armour and weapons of the mighty Crusader regiments.

On worlds such as New Glastonbury and its orbiting Tor these Barons consolidated their powers and on the whole were good to their people, they needed to be; too much had been lost already. Centuries passed and the region of space containing these green and pleasant worlds became known as the Prydian Precinct. Each stellar system looked to itself for sustenance and as technology returned the mighty starships refined their engines and learned how to use the titanic power of the Ion to generate intense magnetic fields and transport themselves instantly from one system to the next avoiding the deadly 'Dolo Clouds'. The need for a collective leadership became clear once more.

The core systems of Prydian space elected a council of Barons, who became the Aeddan's, to lead them and from among their number a titular head was chosen; a king to act on the behalf of all. To prevent the possible imperial ambitions of the past no standing army was allowed to be in the hands of the Aeddan Council or the King who resided on New Glastonbury. Each system would tend to its own needs to fend off pirates and mercenaries who did not respect the King's laws. Allotted to the Aeddan and the King were the million strong Starvaulters, an armed retinue to police the Prydian Precinct, but with no authority or desire to interfere with the Barons and their worlds; their impartiality was all that kept a vital respect for their judgements in matters the Barons could not agree upon.

For a time this arrangement worked and then war once more threatened the worlds of the Prydian Precinct, and war required troops. Millions of soldiers dressed once more in the augmented armour of their forefathers once more took to the field of battle on a hundred planets and countless orbiters and asteroids. It was in war that disaster fell, King Cyon III was killed, and he left his infant daughter in his place. A mere babe could not administer the needs of the Aeddan and their billions of charges, a guardianship was needed. The duty fell to Reckart Nevall a mighty Baron known as the 'Kingmaker' but his guardianship was not greeted by all with joy, over the fifteen years that followed two great camps grew within Prydian space and the Aeddan council split in twain.

A minor Baron whose world Kendal III was poor but populous brought the building tension to a head. Baron Kacj Dace rebelled against a judgement of the Starvaulters and called upon the Marcher Barons of the outer systems of Prydian space to assist him. This they did, seeing the Starvaulters as nothing more than Nevall's retinue to ensure his false control of the Aeddan Council. Naming themselves the League of Canlaster they elected Prince Edmund Bluefort as their rightful heir to the crown of Prydia and attacked Kendal III destroying the small force of Starvaulters on the planet. This single act ignited a civil war, a conflict the largest seen by the worlds of Prydian space for centuries. Nevall reacted with rage and called on the support of his own Marcher Barons to control the now teenage Princess Daphne Cyon and the throne she represented. He headed the League of Yordan named for his home world. The first battle of the Prydian Civil War was fought on Kendal III, many more soon followed. An elite strike force of Starvaulters stole Princess Cyon from Nevall's grasp and spirited her away to New Glastonbury where they now reside in force.

It is now the twelfth year of the Civil War and after suffering terrible setbacks and defeats the white and red uniformed troops of the Prydian Army have gained new vigour and are pushing the Leagues to their limit.Led by the veterans of the Starvaulters and driven by the Code Gallant the now adult Princess Daphne Cyon has promised to liberate each and every world in the Precinct and return it to the safe holding of the Addan Council.This she is doing to great effect and none in the Leagues seem able to prevent the cheering crowds and the flocking to the banners of the Addan.The Civil War might be nearing its end and for many this cannot come soon enough.

Rumours abound about the ever increasing numbers of Muster and Retained along with some of the shining lights of the Starvaulters being sent to the remote Carmarthen star cluster.Some have hinted that perhaps the Leagues are not the prime threat to Prydia and something else, something terrible lurks at the edge of Precinct space.An ancient enemy that all the preparation and new vitality of the Prydian Army may not be able to halt.

Do you want to liberate worlds held by the Marcher Barons or resist the advance of the Prydian Army? Or do you dream and fear of what is occurring in the remote Carmarthen star cluster?